


aftermath

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [142]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i get emotional about newt not wearing his glasses in pru okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22808185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Newton needs glasses again.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [142]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "Prompt: “Well,” he says, and then frowns. Pauses. Starts again. Falters for words. Then, in the absence of anything to say, he crosses the room and wraps Newton in a hug that’s probably tighter than is strictly comfortable."

They don’t talk about it, in the aftermath.

Hermann knows there’s things to be said—things he has to say, especially, to apologise for; after all, he was Newton’s _Drift partner;_ knew him for over a _decade;_ should have realised something was wrong—but Newton is, he knows, probably in no condition for it.

The selfish part of him wants to pretend like nothing happened—to just go back to the way it was, but that isn’t good for Newton, because even if Hermann isn’t necessarily the reason Newton _left,_ he’s certainly a reason Newt got to the place he did.

What was it the Precursors had said—about Newton being seen as weak and stupid? Because they are wholly wrong, of _course_ they are, but Hermann knows that that’s not just something they drew out of thin air; Newton’s always struggled with his self-worth, and God knows Hermann’s never been one to exactly _reassure_ him.

So, in the aftermath, Hermann doesn’t press the matter.

“They’re going to let me back to work,” Newton tells him, a few months after he’s cleared of all Precursor influence. “Uh—figured I’d be more help out there than in here, I guess.” He laughs, sharp, and his hands, in Hermann’s memory, never-still, lay atop the thin, blue sheets of the medical-bay, unmoving.

Hermann musters up a half-smile. “I'm— _glad,_ ” he says. “I know how you hate sitting around and doing nothing. _Hated,_ ” he corrects himself, because he doesn’t know Newton; not really, anymore, and it’s not fair to assume.

Newton mirrors the half-smile. “Old habits die hard,” he says, and there’s a trace of almost-humour there, a brief flash of it in his eyes, but it fades within a blink, the walls coming back up, and he squares his shoulders, as if expecting something.

Hermann swallows; doesn’t know _what_ it is that Newton expects. “I’ll, ah, get out of your hair, then,” he says, softly, not meeting the other’s gaze. “I’m sure you have things to do.”

“Yeah,” Newton says, and it sounds more like an echo than a proper answer. He doesn’t say goodbye as Hermann rises, closing the door quietly behind him.

It takes a few days for Newton to get settled into his new lab; Hermann tries bites back his disappointment at the fact that they’re in separate labs, and scolds himself for having the _gall_ to be disappointed; it’s perfectly understandable for Newton to want his own space. Hermann may always have thought their rivalry was a friendly one, always thought Newton felt the same, but now…now he’s not so sure. And he _understands_ that, really, he does. He just—he doesn’t _like_ it, and that, he tells himself firmly, is his own issue and _not_ Newton’s in the slightest.

He does stop by, though; after two weeks, the separation becomes almost unbearable, leaves him restless and unfocused, which isn’t good for his work.

He finds Newton standing over a holographic display of the Megakaiju, frowning and squinting, his face less than a foot away from the display.

“Newton,” he says, and then, after a moment, remembers himself, and says, “er—Doctor Geiszler. Aren’t you standing a little close?”

“Hmm?” Newton says, uncurling and craning his neck to squint at Hermann. “Oh—uh, hey Hermann. Sorry, what did you say?”

“Aren’t you standing a bit close?” Hermann repeats, “surely that can’t be good for your eyes.”

Newton shrugs. “Can’t see it properly if I don’t,” he says, nonchalantly, and drags a hand through his hair in a harried motion; sending tufts of it sticking up in different directions. He needs a haircut, Hermann thinks to himself absentmindedly.

“Did your prescription change?” he muses aloud, “perhaps that’s why.”

Newton blinks at him. “Per…scription?” he asks, like it’s a foreign word.

“Well, I assumed you’d switched from glasses to contacts,” Hermann says with a frown, “since I haven’t…seen you wear them…”

He stops; trailing off. He _hasn’t_ seen Newton wear his glasses since…since he _left,_ actually; interviews when he was with Shao either had him without them or wearing those horrid red-lensed sunglasses, but surely, the Precursors would have worn them, right?

“Hermann,” Newton says, slowly, “they got me LASIK _years_ ago. I don’t _need_ glasses.”

There’s something there—hurt, longing, resignation all, and damn it, _damn_ it, Hermann wishes he could beat those bastards _bloody,_ just for a moment, because how _dare_ they—, and Hermann swallows. “Newton,” he says, “you _do._ ”

“I—but—” Newton gapes at him. “That’s _ridiculous,_ ” he manages to choke out, and his eyes are tearing up, and, God, _God._ “They got me LASIK,” Newton repeats, like a broken record, “Hermann, I—I don’t _need glasses._ ”

His tone is verging on hysteria, now, almost, and he stumbles back a few steps before catching himself, and Hermann’s heart aches.

“Well,” he says, and then frowns. Pauses. Starts again. Falters for words. Then, in the absence of anything to say, he crosses the room and wraps Newton in a hug that’s probably tighter than is strictly comfortable.

Newton leans against him, seemingly in shock, and after a moment, he begins to shake, fingers gripping the fabric of Hermann’s shirt tightly. “Well,” Hermann says, again, softly, “your eyes could have been overcorrected, or simply have regressed over the years.”

“God,” Newton murmurs, the sound half-muffled into his shirt, “I can’t fucking believe it. I—I…” he trails off.

“It’s alright, Newton,” Hermann murmurs. “I…I don’t understand exactly, but I can—I can _guess_ at what you’re feeling, and it’s perfectly alright.”

“Thank you,” Newton says, “for—for calling me…Newton, again, and for being here for me.”

 _Oh,_ Hermann thinks, and draws his arms tightly around the other, “Of course. Would…if you’d like, I can look into getting you an appointment with an optometrist,” he offers. “And I, ah—well, it’s going to sound ridiculous, but you left your spare pair when you left, and I kept them, so if you’d like, you can just get the lenses swapped out for the new prescription.”

“Yeah, I'd—I’d like that,” Newton says, something Hermann doesn’t quite understand in his voice, and then he asks, tentatively, “can we—can I move into your lab? Um, we can put a line down the middle if you want—”

“ _Of course,_ ” Hermann says, “I'd—that’d be _wonderful,_ Newton. And…I don’t think we need anymore barriers between us. And I doubt anyone would object to it—but if they do, I’ll give them a piece of my mind.”

“…alright,” Newton says, softly, “I—yeah. I’d like that. Thank you, Hermann.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
